Not So Easy
by Japanese and Chocolate
Summary: Really, you thought the Goa'uld are so imposing 'coz it's genetic? That scorch marks cleaned up themselves? Please! Behind the scenes of Goa'uld society.
1. Event Planner

**Title:** Not So Easy

**Author:** Japanese and Chocolate (Sarbear12456 on LJ)

**Rating:** K

**Genre:** Humour

**Disclaimer:** Don't own it (yet)

**Reviews:** Provide meaning to my life. Constructive criticism, no flames!

My God, Apophis, stood tall and proud as he surveyed the room where the meeting was to take place. His slaves and underlings scoured every surface, polishing the gold surfaces as if their lives depended in it (their lives _did_ depend on it). Hours from now, Heru'ur would be meeting Apoohis in this very room d to discuss a possible alliance and I, Aila Craise, was in charge of this to the smallest of details.

Apophis's eyes flashed to display his anger as he commanded "Come!", and his wrath was unmistakably directed at me. "Why is my planned attire ruffled along the front!" he demanded, as though that was something too ridiculous for a goa'uld to wear. He was obviously forgetting that his current wardrobe featured gold, silver and blue (colours it is a crime to wear together), a headdress that was so immense it required a support on his shoulders and _two_ ceremonial swords I doubted he knew how to use.

Perhaps I should explain further, I am Aila Craise the most experienced and sought after goa'uld event planner. Weddings, ceremonies, even official events, you name it. Many believe that the splendour, grace and awe projected by the gods are natural. The fact of the matter is... it's not. Almost every second of their lived is practiced and rehearsed and planned to achieve the maximum impact. I am so sought after because that is what I deliver, maximum impact. And I'm smart enough to avoid being killed by an impatient god who doesn't want to wear ruffles.

"This is the attire requested by the queen" I replied (never underestimate how well you can blame others) "I shall take it to be remedied immediately as to obtain attire fit to be worn by your most powerful and awe-inspiring self". Because, yes, flattery will get you anywhere.

"See to it" he commanded and I escaped a painful death. In a few years, I would have enough favour to be an advisor to others, not in the direct path of the gods. They would destroy anyone who failed them, but they had one-track minds. I would be safe. As I left the room I heard the sounds of a slave being tortured for not polishing his sandals to gleaming. The Goa'uld were like children, really. They threw tantrums if they didn't get what they wanted. They threw tantrums when they did get what they wanted. Basically, they lived to make hell of the lives of those who looked after them.

Glad to leave the room I reflected on my chosen position. It's not so easy being a goa'uld event planner.


	2. Cleaner

**Title: **Lael the Cleaner

**Characters/Pairing:** OC

**Summary:** We've seen the Goa'uld event planner…but who cleans up after them?

**Disclaimer:** Still negotiation, but not mine yet.

If he had been strong, he would have been a soldier's slave. Had he been wise, he could have gained a position as a temple scribe or a priest even. If he had good looks he could have served as a lotan or minor slave of a minor Goa'uld. Lael, however, was none of these things. So, like many others sent to be trained at age eleven, he had been selected at random to be trained in one of the professions that required no great physical or mental attributes: farmer, gardener, builder, etc. He honestly never even considered the position he was chosen for.

Lael was a cleaner. A position often given to those who had done something to_ really_ piss of their master. There were a few perks, maybe. No direct master, reduced risk of being killed for dissatisfactory service, no chance of demotion. Of course, it also meant getting up three hours before the sun to clean up the blood, guts and scorch marks of a recent battle before a visiting dignitary (the god his god wanted to suck up to) arrived on the ship.

Being a cleaner was…interesting. Honestly, he had learnt a long time ago not to question why he was scrubbing manacles of yellow blood or disposing of the bodies of small, fluffy, pink…things. He took it in stride.

He was called to clean up blue writing denouncing his god's divinity…he didn't ask.

Seemingly decapitated robotic people…he didn't ask.

His (now dead) god, Cronus.

He definitely didn't ask.


End file.
